


life should be about more than just surviving the walking dead

by hearteyedheda



Category: The 100 (TV), The Walking Dead (TV), clexa - Fandom
Genre: AU, Clexa, Crossover, Eventual Smut, F/F, Horror, I'm bad I know I'm sorry but people are gonna die ya know, Inspired by The Walking Dead, Sad, like really sad parts, the 100 au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:18:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4031524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearteyedheda/pseuds/hearteyedheda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Walking Dead/The 100 crossover. At the beginning of the outbreak. Inspired by the upcoming Walking Dead spinoff: Fear the Walking Dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you're all as excited about this as I am! The Walking Dead and The 100 are my two favorite shows, so I'll definitely be working hard on this. Sorry about the first chapter being so short, it'll pick up the pace soon enough. Leave comments please! I'm so excited to write this and would love suggestions. You can find me on tumblr at commander-hearteyes

Maybe Los Angeles wasn’t so bad after all. Aside from the impenetrable air pollution and massive crowds of people, Clarke grew accustomed to the warmth and upbeat pace of the city. It was the polar opposite of laidback Kenai, Alaska – forthright, it was FUN. What it lacked in nature, it made up in excitement. Clarke could spend hours sitting on the balcony of her tiny apartment, comfortable in her plastic chair as she soaked up the sun’s rays and watched the hustle and bustle of cars rushing down the street only to come to a near stop further down the road, with the occasional fender bender.

  
The sound of screeching metal and shattering glass tugged Clarke back to reality and directed her attention to the intersection on her left. “Just another crash,” she yawned and stretched an arm out to her little plastic table to scratch her cat’s alert ears. “No worries, Buster. They’re fine,” she reassured him as two men eased out of their cars and proceeded to assess the damage to their vehicles. Buster turned his head to Clarke, mewled, jumped down from his table, and stalked into the apartment through the open glass door.

  
After another thorough stretch, the blonde-haired girl rose from her plastic throne and reentered her home, sliding the door shut behind her. “Food, Buster?” she called on her way to the kitchen. The ragdoll cat scurried out of Clarke’s room and leaped straight from the tile floor to the marble counter in the middle of the kitchen. “Chill, mister. Don’t forget what happened the last time you got all worked up,” Clarke chuckled and opened the can of food, eyeing the scratch marks down the wooden sides of the counter. “You’re about as graceful as a newborn giraffe.” She emptied the can’s contents into Buster’s blue bowl and threw the can into the trashcan.  
Clarke plopped into her usual spot on the couch and turned on the TV, immediately changing the channel to watch the news. No news on the soldiers deployed in Iraq, meaning no news on Lexa. She’d only been gone for a month, but two weeks into her deployment Clarke received a hurried text message from her girlfriend. “Classified mission, no outside contact until next month. Love you baby, can’t wait to see your beautiful face in July.” Clarke knew Lexa was a well-trained Navy SEAL and could deal with any situation into which the Navy threw her, but she couldn’t help but worry every time they couldn’t even write each other. Where even was her girlfriend? What was she doing? Was she even alive? Was she killing other people or was she simply picking up and delivering top-secret government items or intel? The blonde could only wonder, and her brunette girlfriend warned her several times that ‘the ever-wondering mind digs a grave deeper than intended’.

  
Once again, she focused on the news. “Hopefully you all got your flu shots, a flu-like illness has been reported in five states now, starting in Texas and seeming to spread outward.”

“Blech, that doesn’t sound good,” the co-anchor interjected lightly. _Typical news banter_ , Clarke rolled her eyes and scrolled through the guide. _Girl Code, here we go_.  
Buster hopped up into Clarke’s lap and kneaded at her stomach.

“I know, I know, I haven’t had dinner.”

  
A loud series of knocks on the front door sent Buster sprinting down the hallway to Clarke’s room. “Clarke let me in let me in let me in!”

  
She opened the door to find her best friend Octavia shaking and swinging her head side to side, searching the apartment hallways. “Octavia, what the hell happened?” Clarke grabbed her friend’s elbow and pulled her through the door, slamming it shut once she was in. “Are you okay?”

  
“Dude, some psycho creep fucking bit me when I was walking home from work! Look!” she held out her left arm for Clarke to view. A bloody bite mark, obviously from human teeth, just about glowed red on Octavia’s forearm. “It hurts like a bitch.”

  
“You should probably go to the hospital, O. That looks infected.”

  
“Dude I know, ugh go with me?”

  
Clarke’s face screwed into a display of uncertainty. “I don’t know, O, a hospital is the last place I want to be-“

  
“Please?” Octavia pouted and looked up through her eyelashes. “I’ll buy you lunch and some catnip for Buster.”

  
“You think getting my cat stoned will be worth walking into a hospital?” Clarke paused, watching Octavia’s face fall in disappointment. “You know me too well. Let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Octavia hear some frightening news.

“I can’t believe they gave me a tetanus shot.” Octavia, now stretched across Clarke’s couch, pouted and rubbed at the injection site.

“It was either the shot or the disease,” Clarke smiled and shook her head as she thoroughly cleaned Buster’s food bowl in the kitchen sink.

“What even is tetanus?” Octavia rolled her eyes and reached for the TV remote, wincing when the stretch shifted the tape holding the bandage over her wound.

“Muscle spasms. Pain. Death.”

“Nobody even gets that anymore, Clarke. This is the 21st century, we have a cure for, like, everything.”

“Cancer? AIDS? Ebola?”

“Okay, ALMOST everything,” Octavia sighed and clicked the remote’s buttons until she finally found The Ellen Show. Onscreen, a crowd of people danced and laughed as the host shuffled up and down the stairs to dance with her guests.

Clarke rinsed the last of the soap from Buster’s bowl, set it on the counter to dry, and opened up the fridge to figure out what to make for her own dinner, now having to cook for two. Nearly two minutes passed and the monstrous machine wailed its disapproval, likely disappointed by the lack of concern for the perishable foods within. None of which appealed to the now ravenous girl. “Want pizza, O?”

“Ham and pineapple, please!” Octavia called to the kitchen. “And keep your mushrooms on your half, I’m not trying to eat fungus!”

Clarke laughed and entered the living room, hands on her hips. “Mushrooms are actually pretty good for you. I wouldn’t expect you to know that though, Pizza Princess.”

“I get pineapple on it! That’s fruit, and fruit is good for you,” Octavia rebutted with her index finger pointed at Clarke. “But I wouldn’t expect you to know that, ‘Shroom Sovereign.”

“Weed, yes. Shrooms, no.”

“Clarke Griffin, I am shocked!” Octavia slapped a hand over her chest, feigning disbelief, her mouth hanging open. “You, a young woman just about engaged to a prestigious member of the United States military, couldn’t _possibly_ be involved in any illegal activities!”

Clarke settled on Octavia’s legs and shoved the brunette’s good shoulder. “You’re one to talk, you’re the one that got me into it.”

“ONCE. On your birthday. That was all you every time after that. Shame on you, Griffin,” Octavia couldn’t hold back the giggles bubbling up her throat.

“Hush, I’m calling Antonio’s,” Clarke chuckled and gave her order to the man who answered the phone. “That’ll be all…okay, thanks.”

“How much longer do I have to starve?” Octavia whined.

“Just 15 minutes, you big baby. They had ham and pineapple pizza ready, someone cancelled their order a couple minutes ago. We got it fifteen percent off.”

“I need nourishment so my body can mend my wound,” Octavia threw an arm over her forehead. “How will I ever heal?”

“Oh shut up and watch Ellen,” Clarke eased her head back to rest on the couch cushion. The crowd on TV roared in excitement when Ellen announced they’d all be taking home a gift card for an online store. Clarke sighed. “We need to go see the show, maybe we’ll meet some famous people.”

“Or embarrass ourselves playing Fast Fingers of Fate.”

“You don’t need to be on Ellen’s show to embarrass yourself with autocorrect,” Clarke cracked up, slapping her thigh as if it would help her control her breathing.

“I suppose ‘Krispy Korean’ was pretty bad,” Octavia joined in and laughed herself to tears.

A long, static beep from the TV interrupted them and jerked their eyes toward the screen. The channel was scrambled and several beeps in different tones and lengths blared from the speakers.

“Clarke..?”

“I don’t know,” the blonde furrowed her brows and got up to check if one of the cables came loose.

Both Clarke and Octavia jumped when tires squealed on the street below the balcony outside. The screeching halted at the sound of metal colliding and bending, glass cracking and shattering. The girls dashed for the sliding door, shoving it open to get a better view of the accident. Flames jumped up from both cars and engulfed them both in a matter of seconds. Loud pops and sudden sparks prevented anyone from straying too close. Cars of all shapes, sizes, and colors continued on the street at dangerous speeds, swerving to avoid the tragedy.

“Nobody’s doing anything!” Octavia yelled and leaned over the rail to look down both ends of the street. “What the hell is happening, Clarke?”

“I don’t-“

“The following message is transmitted at the request of the United States government,” a static voice buzzed from the TV, followed by another long beep.

“Inside,” Clarke choked. She followed Octavia through the door and slammed it shut, sure to lock it, and pulled the curtain closed. They sat on the floor in front of the TV, anxious about whatever the government deemed urgent enough to report so suddenly.

“Attacks by the undead have been reported in several states across the country,” the voice continued calmly. "They include: California, Nevada, New York, New Jersey, and Massachusetts. At this time, it’s expected that more attacks of this nature will occur in several other states in the next two days. It has been observed that a bite or exchange of fluids is a method of transmission. All residents of the United States are strongly encouraged to follow these instructions… Stay away from the infected. Get inside a building with two doors and windows. Seek shelter in a room above or below ground. It is not known whether this event will last for hours, days, or longer. Authorities will be dispatched in one hour.” Three short beeps and a long one echoed through the room before the channel returned to the scheduled show.

Clarke turned her head to find Octavia with her legs pulled to her chest, sobbing into her knees.

“Hey, hey we’ll be okay, we’ll be fine. We’ll just stay up here for a few days until they get this all cleared up,” Clarke wrapped an arm around the crying girl’s shoulders and pulled her close. “I have plenty of food and water for the both of us.”

“Clarke,” Octavia raised her head and shuttered before holding out her injured arm for her friend to see. “That man…I don’t think he was one of us.”

A tsunami of denial drowned Clarke for a split second before it drained away to numbness, taking the color in her face with it. “What do we do?”

Octavia wiped at the lone tear trailing down Clarke’s left cheek. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” she sighed, regaining control of her breath.

“There has to be something, O. We can go back to the hospital, they can monitor you until they find a cure – I mean they have to work for a cure now, right? They can-“

“Clarke…”

She looked into the brunette’s dry eyes. They said nothing but ‘it’s over’.

“Just don’t let me turn into one of them.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Clarke’s sniffles escalated to whimpering, then to weeping. “How can you just accept death like that? You have to live, O, I can’t deal with this shitstorm without you, I need you by my side and I need you to be here when this ends and I need you to be here when Lexa gets back and tells us about all the dead people she shot.”

Octavia’s eyes widened and Clarke stopped breathing. “Lexa…”

“No no no, not her too,” Clarke dug her nails into her scalp and rocked herself back and forth. “This isn’t happening…”

“She’ll be okay, Clarke. I know I can promise that, too.”

“She’ll have to respond to all those calls, she’ll have to go up against those p- … those things.”

Another explosion boomed out from the burning wreck in the street.

“Listen to me, Clarke. Honestly, I’ve been suicidal for months. The only thing keeping me here was you. You’re my best friend. But you know what? I’m free now. And I’m happy about that. If there’s an afterlife or whatever I know I will miss you so much, and I know you won’t be able to see me at your wedding or your birthday parties or holidays. But I’ll be there, Clarke. I swear I will be there. I don’t even believe in God but I swear I’ll be a ghost and follow you everywhere. I’ll scare you shitless if that’s what it takes to let you know I’m there,” she chuckled reassuringly and hugged the blonde. “It’ll be okay. Just please don’t let me become one of those things.”

Clarke wrapped her arms around Octavia. She couldn't argue about this. The broadcast didn't mention anything about a cure and Octavia didn't want to seek help. Under any other circumstance, Clarke would have persisted. She would have pushed and pushed and pushed until Octavia finally agreed to Clarke's rational plan.

"By the way, Griffin, I don't think we're getting our pizza."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All credit for the emergency broadcast goes to The EAS Experience on Youtube! "Emergency Alert System: Zombie Attack"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets real.

One year earlier

 

Owls hooted to each other in the still night of the forest in Alaska, their warm breaths coming out in clouds of mist.

Clarke knelt next to a pile of wood and dried leaves, hands rolling a stick into a piece of wood covered in owl down in an attempt to ignite a fire. Her palms stung and burned the way she wished the twigs would. “Lex, we have a box of matches literally ten feet away from us.”

“It’s good to know how to start a fire. What if you get lost on a hike and end up staying outside for the night?”

“That’s what a cellphone is for,” Clarke rebutted, smirking as she caught Lexa’s eyes roll.

“What if your phone dies?”

“Portable solar-powered phone charger,” Clarke removed one hand from the stick to reach into her pocket, but an icy hand grabbed hers before it could reach the denim of her jeans.

“Clarke.”

“I know, I know, you want me to be able to fend for myself and survive. Thank you,” the blonde quirked the corners of her lips into a smile and went back to work on her campfire. She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth to fight off the pain in her palms as she twisted the stick faster to get it over with. Only seconds later, a spark flew out from the connection between the pieces of wood and the infant of a fire consumed the soft feathers. Clarke nudged the dry leaves over and grinned when they crackled and glowed. She was ecstatic by the time the fire covered the rest of the twigs and sticks. “I did it!”

“I told you,” Lexa laughed and threw more dry leaves into the fire. “Your hands aren’t even bleeding, I’m impressed.”

Clarke groaned and allowed herself a glance at her hands. If they weren’t bleeding now, they surely would before the sun rose. “You’re driving us home.”

“But of course,” Lexa gently picked up one of Clarke’s hands and pressed her lips to the back of it. “Anything for my princess.”

 

* * *

 

Presently

Clarke and Octavia settled on their stomachs on the floor of the deck outside Clarke’s second story apartment and watched the horror begin on the streets. Somebody finally stopped to put out the fire from the car crash, but his good deed was met by a pair of charred beings dragging themselves out of the vehicles and sinking their teeth into the man’s skin. Clarke and Octavia held their breath when more of the creatures rounded the corners of the intersection to investigate the screams coming from the scene. However, before they could all limp over to the quickly deteriorating body, screams from a different pair of lungs pulled them to the next street over, behind Clarke’s building.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Clarke huffed in a whisper, her eyes wide as they followed a walker’s path down the sidewalk and into an open door on the other side of the street.

Buster hopped up onto the rail and sat to groom his arms. His ears swiveled around to capture the unfamiliar noises surrounding him.

A walker headed toward the intersection groaned and gurgled, one of its arms gnawed to the bone and limp at its side. Buster hissed, his ears flat and fur fluffed. The creature below looked and reached up, several feet below its prey. It ground its teeth and sounded like it was trying to catch its breath while it choked.

“Buster, get down,” Clarke hissed and swatted at the cat’s tail, but he stood his ground.

Several of the dead noticed the first’s struggle and joined in, all reaching for the feline.

“Back. Slowly,” Octavia breathed and pushed herself back with her arms, remaining on her stomach. She rolled back and onto her feet as soon as she felt the living room’s carpet beneath her, and Clarke followed suit.

The commotion outside grew louder and more intense, Buster all the while egging them on.

“You better get that damned cat in here before they figure out how to get him.”

“Fuck, I know,” Clarke searched the house frantically for something to catch his attention. None of his toys entertained him even when there wasn’t a horde of walking dead people outside to keep him busy. “Can opener?”

“They like noise. What if they’re in the hallway?”

More groaning from the street, more hissing from the cat.

“Fuck,” Clarke mouthed and pushed her hair back. She tapped the glass of the sliding door, but her cat continued to tempt the dead, not even twitching his ears at the rapping. She turned back to the living room. A bright yellow bag on the coffee table caught her eye and relief rushed through her body. “Treats.”

A single shake of the bag was all it took to own Buster’s attention and send him galloping back into the apartment. Octavia hopped to the door and eased it shut, clicked the lock in place, and pulled the curtains closed. The door failed in filtering out the sickly bellows of the infected.

“Once again, don’t you dare let me turn into one of them,” Octavia slid down into a cross-legged position.

“How would I prevent it?” Clarke stared at the floor, still unable to face the idea of killing her best friend.

“I have a gun.”

“Octavia, you live down the street. You wanna go out there? Because I sure the hell don’t!”

“Then I’ll get it.”

Clarke dug her nails into the back of her neck. “I can’t let you go alone. They’ll take you down,” she sighed, exasperated. Terrified. “Okay. Okay, we’ll go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, if you could leave some comments I would appreciate it! Make suggestions, if you wish!


End file.
